


Damage Revisited

by Darrah19



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-28
Updated: 2006-02-28
Packaged: 2018-08-15 17:49:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8066953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darrah19/pseuds/Darrah19
Summary: T'Pol confronts her Captain in 3.19 "Damage." (08/16/2004)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Spoilers, 3.18 "Azati Prime," 3.19 "Damage."  
  
This scene, as some of you know, has been circling my brain since Damage aired. Phyllis Strong wrote a kick-ass script. Kudos to her. This is just my interpretation of it. The dialogue has stayed intact around my ruminations.  


* * *

### INT. ENTERPRISE BRIDGE

"Perhaps we should reconsider negotiation." She had said it without thought, almost instinctively.

His reaction seemed automatic, as well. "We can't risk tipping them off. We have to take them by surprise."

He gave her a sliding glance as he paced back and forth, his concentration fully on the task at hand. "That'll reduce the losses on both sides. We'll disable their ship as quickly as we can, beam over, extract the warp coil and get out. Hopefully, without any casualties."

She looked around the table and saw Commander Tucker's reluctance, Lt. Reed's discomfort and Ensign Mayweather's disbelief at the Captain's decision. But she knew none of them would protest to him directly. That task was hers.

T'Pol shook her head slightly. The voices within her skull were building to a crescendo. Her ears were ringing, her throat dry and her body stiff and sore from the iron fist she had manufactured around it. Her head felt heavier with every ticking second. His voice seemed to be the only one to penetrate, and she looked up to see him glance at Ensign Mayweather. "Set a course."

Even before the group around them disbanded, he was moving, striding past her toward the wreckage that was once his Ready Room. T'Pol found her own voice amidst the thousands crowding her brain. "Can I have a word with you?"

"Not right now." He kept walking.

She followed anyway, and saw him glance back at her as they entered through the open hatch.

Archer knew she was right on his heels. One of the first things about T'Pol he had gotten used to over the years was her body heat. It emanated from her in an aura akin to the sun. Maybe that was one of the reasons he had found himself, time and time again, drawn to her nearness, the proximity of her personal space; as if his natural, Human, coolness craved her Vulcan heat. It was strange—the way their cultural archetypes contradicted their respective physiologies—her Vulcan warmth to his Human calm; his Human impulse to her Vulcan control.

Except control was something he was used to, right from his childhood, externally, as well as internally. After his mother died, he had seen his father begin to fall apart. Nothing had seemed to matter to Henry Archer for a while. Not his work, not the Vulcans, not his health, not his son. It was Jonathan, young and strong, who had been the glue that had held his father together. And they had survived...until Henry's death.

Since then, control had become second nature to Jonathan Archer. And ever since the start of the NX-01's first mission, he had found that he had had to call on it at almost every moment he spent with his Science Officer; not only because of the challenge she was to his opinions, his ideas, his experience, but also to his peace of mind.

There was a time when he had nearly given in to her unconscious sensuality and the pull between them but those days were long gone. Now, things were too dire, and their existence too unpredictable. She was too unpredictable. Earlier, after he had come back to the ship, he'd caught a slight glimpse of something in the Sickbay that had made him sick with fear. Later, in the Command Center, he had looked hard and long at her, but she had seemed all right. He had reasoned with himself that it was only natural. She had been in command at a time when everything had gone wrong with the ship and the battle it faced. Granted, she was not as inexperienced in Command functions in the way Trip was. He knew she had had plenty of experience on Vulcan explorer ships, but he doubted she had had much combat history under that svelte, pacifist belt of hers. She was, after all, a Vulcan, by birth and by experience. Although, after this, he wondered what would happen to her...to him...to them all.

Either way, he didn't want to put her on the spot. Right now, he wanted to avoid conversation with her, maybe because he knew that if forced to talk to each other, they would both bring up things they would much rather forget, at least until a better time.

But he knew why she had come in with him and that she would not be put off easily. He decided that honesty was right now the better part of valor. "If I had another option, I'd take it," he threw out, hoping to mollify her a little.

Well, at least, she wanted to talk to him. They had not even exchanged more than a few sentences since his...attempted suicide run several hours ago and her impassioned plea for him to stay.

At that moment, looking into her wide, tear-brimmed eyes, he'd thought he had glimpsed a piece of the haven he'd once sought...with her at his side.

No...don't think about that now, Archer. You can't afford it...

And he had left. He had gone away from her...leaving her to her fate, separate from his own.

"We're no different than the marauders who attacked us when we entered the Expanse!"

What?!

He turned around. Her voice was low and harsh, and her eyes were burning with some kind of inner discontent. There were olive green circles under them, and her cheeks looked sunken and sooty. Her lips were trembling and her hands were fists. This was a T'Pol he had not seen before.

What the hell was wrong with her?!

They stared at each other, and he knew she would not let this go.

He strode to the open hatch. He couldn't let the crew hear this. No matter what happened between them, the crew needed to know that their Captain and XO were unified in their intent.

"We're a lot different." He heard the denial in his voice. Was it clear enough? Was it strong enough for her?

"By stealing their warp coil, we could be condemning them to death!"

Her voice was louder now, insistent, rough with accusation. She had turned toward him and stepped closer for emphasis.

NO! That's not true!

His whole body ached. The torture, however administered, had been intense and long, and his body was now feeling the effects of a combination of a lack of rest and trauma dealt it over the last few days. Several dozen hammers beat at the edges of his skull from inside his head. His neck felt as if it was still in a vice of steel. He tried to stretch it out, but screams of pain from the major muscle groups in the area stilled his actions and the sensation of almost unbearable pain tripled within a nanosecond. He gritted his teeth as the carefully collected shards of his control began to disintegrate.

He shook his head.

Please, god, not now. Not now! I can't deal with this now! I can't deal with her now.

He walked around her and picked up a datapadd, walked back and handed it to her. Some quiet, cool, observant part tucked away deep inside of him noticed the way she grabbed it from him, the touch of her hand on his electric, her skin boiling hot. He could not tell if her hands were still shaking, but she was breathing fast.

She glared at him, and he tried to ignore the pain in his body and heed the voice in his head telling him to be careful. Extra careful. She seemed more fragile, more brittle, than he had ever seen her before. And he had seen her in some of her most vulnerable moments over the past three years—he had to admit that. But they had come through those experiences intact; at least, he hoped they had.

Maybe the key to it was communication. And here they both were, trying to do just that. She was finally talking to him. Hallelujah!

He tried reason. "We're going to leave them a supply of trellium, along with some extra food. I'm not saying it'll be easy for them, but they'll stand a decent chance of making it home."

"You're forgetting that we're in a dangerous region of space. Our assault could cripple their ability to defend themselves—"

"—Not if we do it right—"

"—And what if something goes wrong?!"

All of a sudden, he felt her anger hit him like a hurricane. He tried to look at her, but some part of him just wanted her to stop, to end this, to leave him alone to his solitude and resolve. For god's sakes! This was his responsibility, his lookout, his mission! He did not need her help, or her advice! He could go it alone. He had been going it alone anyway...without his first officer or his chief engineer, lately, it seemed.

No more! This has to stop! Now!

Bitterness laced his voice as he edged past her and turned his back on her, facing the window. "We can debate this all day. I've made my decision."

T'Pol drew in a breath. It was impossible. He was like an impenetrable castle. Locked up and shuttered. These days, it seemed no matter what she did, no matter what she said, his answer never strayed from "I have made my decision."

Sometimes she wished she were a man. So they could settle it physically...as Lt. Reed once put it...slug it out, perhaps, in the gym...?

Stop! You have gone insane. You cannot do this anymore. You are too weak, too tired, too spent. Go back to your quarters and gather yourself. Try to pretend that you are meditating, at least. Better yet, go back to Cargo Bay 2 and gather up what is left and take it to your quarters and be done with it.

Yet, somehow, a miniscule part of her reasoned, and some hitherto-ignored part of her ceased to make herself, and her own needs, the priority any longer.

That certain something kept her there, with him, facing the dogged lines of his back. And the once-cool, logical T'Pol asserted herself for a moment.

You can no longer hide yourself away. Let go, T'Pol, let go. He will catch you.

Just as he always has.

But would he, now? Still? Would he still catch her fall? Would he still catch her if he...knew?

And yet, she could not completely bury hope. And she could not prevent herself from saying the words.

"We can't save humanity without holding on to what makes us human."

She knew her voice had trembled with the emotion and the memory of that moment between them. She saw him stiffen and half-turn toward her. Her heart was racing and her breathing labored. But she could not stop. She had tried once before and had not succeeded. She had had to let him go...away from her, away from his ship, to an almost sure death.

And yet, he had come back. She didn't know how. She had only known that he had not spared her the realization of knowing a world where he no longer existed. And she had known that that moment had been the start of her headlong flight down the path of self-flagellation and crippling paralysis.

But this time she would stop him. She would do whatever was possible and necessary to prevent him from destroying himself a second time.

"Those were your words to me."

She saw him shake his head. "I'm no happier doing this than you are, but we're not going to make a habit of it—"

She moved around to face him. Her hands itched to grab his arms and shake him into realization, into submission. "Once you rationalize the first misstep, it's easy to fall into a pattern of behavior!"

He turned fully and faced her. His face was angry now, and his eyes blazed with an inner fire. She felt his hot breath upon her face. Somewhere deep inside her, an image awakened...their mouths meshing, tongues dueling, breaths mingling...

She breathed in soft gasps. He was floating away, beyond her grasp, beyond her power to preserve...to safeguard...to redeem...

"I'm not rationalizing anything. I know full well what I'm doing!" His voice was rough, his eyes narrowed, his face now closed in resolve. She felt almost as if he was pushing her out of the hatch...yet again! She felt the heat of the ancient battle between them, its searing flame begin to spark into life...again...it made her fearful, just as much as it had before. She had no idea where it would carry her...carry them both.

But she had to do something to stop him. If she didn't, she feared he might be lost to her, and to himself...forever.

"I can't justify this course of action!" Was that her voice...so insistent?!

"We don't have a choice!" He shouted at her.

And she found herself shouting back, "I won't let you DO it!"

Her arm moved, of its own volition, and brought the datapadd crashing down on the desk beside them. She felt his shock as he moved away from her slightly, stunned at the force of her action. As she looked up at him, her brain still not acknowledging the immensity, the enormity of what she had just done, she saw that he was breathing just as heavily as she was—his eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared. There was a dark red dash of color on his cheeks and his mouth was held in a straight, angry line.

"I apologize..." the silence between them lasted for a bare millisecond after the last tinkle of the shattering glass, then she found herself being pulled, roughly and unceremoniously, into his arms. Some part of her resisted, without much hope of success, and she put her hands, weakly, on his chest, pushing at him.

"Too late, Subcommander!" She heard him grit out, and in the next moment, she felt his lips, hot and hard, capture hers. His hands pinned her arms to her sides as he pushed his body against hers, widening his legs, holding her hips captive between them. She knew she could put a stop to this easily. She knew she could push him away if she wanted to. A part of her felt a thrill of fear and...excitement...at the suddenness and inevitability of being finally, physically, overpowered by this man...a man who had, many a time, overpowered her emotionally.

He held her in a vice grip. She had always known him to be strong. Not stronger than her, but made of tougher material than most Humans. She struggled against him, knowing that by doing so she was only enraging him further. Even knowing that, she writhed against him, her hands pushing at his chest, her body arching back. Then it was as if she felt the last of his control snap...and he was kissing her, his mouth heavy and demanding upon hers, his hands rough on her hips, pulling her against his. She felt him gasping against her lips, felt his body trembling a little, and then she knew that familiar, drugged, sweet sensation of drowning. Only, this time, it was his mouth, his hands, his nearness...not that of the heightened pain/pleasure induced by her descent into artificially stimulated madness.

No. This was very different; and yet, strangely familiar. As if some old, half-forgotten melody had been awakened in her inner ear and was only now coming to life in her head.

She heard a distant sound and knew it was her own voice moaning her acquiescence. Her body leaned into his, her hands sliding across his chest, up toward his shoulders and his neck, to mingle in his hair. She felt the sparks between them burst into flames as his lips softened and nudged hers open...and then the hot, sweet sensation of his tongue was on hers. She felt rather than heard the deep vibrato of his groan and knew she was trembling, aching, straining against him.

All of a sudden, it was as if all her fears, all her control had disappeared. All she wanted was the taste of him, the touch of him. Her lips nibbled at his, her tongue pushed his aside in a short, fiery battle and invaded his mouth. He was sweet and warm, silky and rough in places and she heard their joint moans as she explored him without restraint, her tongue probing the heated moistness of his mouth with almost playful abandon. She felt his hands skimming her waist and she pushed her lower body against his, her thighs softening and melting against the hardness of his. He breathed in sharply and his hands gripped her hips, holding her against him. She arched into him as his mouth left hers and traveled down her throat to the opening of her uniform, leaving a faint trail of their combined saliva on her heated flesh. Then his lips were on the swell of her breasts, his hands moving to cup the sides of her rounded flesh thru the fabric of her uniform. His mouth traced itself to the shadowed valley in between and, softly yet firmly, his tongue moved downward in tiny circles of ecstasy on the exposed nakedness of her skin. She knew her body was responding with a kind of wild, strange abandon to his touch, and she arched against him, gasping his name out loud..."Jonathan!"

She felt him stiffen for a second. Then he straightened and his mouth was back on hers, crushing and hot and hard, again...his tongue probing and searching, as if seeking reassurance of some kind. She responded as before, her mind rejoicing at the feel of his body against hers, at the touch of his fingers in her hair, the rush of his hot breath on her skin...

Then his hands dragged themselves up her back to her arms, holding her slightly away from him. She strained against him as their lips came apart, her own lips still clinging to the touch of his. She breathed in loud gasps, knowing that this had been inevitable, and yet unthinkable, for both of them.

She kept her eyes closed, a part of her ashamed at her behavior...the sheer, reckless abandon with which she had responded to his loss of control. She was Vulcan! She should have known better!

She felt his body relax a little as he rested his forehead against hers. He was breathing hard as well.

He was quiet for a few moments as they both tried to slow their breathing. Then he was letting go of her, pulling back, standing back, out of her immediate reach. She still kept her eyes closed and her head was down, her chin nudging the center of her throat.

"T'Pol..." His voice was rough, a bit hoarse, almost a whisper. She held her breath. She knew not in what...fear or shame. "Look at me."

After a second, she opened her eyes.

He was looking down at her, his eyes hooded. His mouth was red and bruised, and his hair was disheveled. He was...beautiful! The word (so Human) came to her out of the blue, as if from the depths within her. As she stared up at him, she realized he was speaking to her, and tried to concentrate on his words.

"I am not going to say I'm sorry." He closed his eyes and ran a hand across his forehead, then into his hair, trying to smooth back. " I think we both had that coming."

She blinked a little. She felt at a loss for words. Her body was still revved up and she felt the familiar downward pull of her baser instincts. She wanted to reach out and grab him by his wild hair and pull his face back down on hers and...

As he'd sometimes said—to hell with it all!

She fisted her hands and saw him glance down at them.

Archer took in a deep breath. He wanted to pace, he wanted to throw something at the porthole or the hatch, he wanted to drag her back into his arms and kiss her hungrily...

But he had already made that mistake. And now she was back to making fists and staring at him as if he had killed someone.

A short bark of a sound escaped him.

Yes, he had, indeed!

Several.

He had killed several. And if he was not careful, a lot more people would die within the next hour.

He stood still and looked at her. She was looking up at him, her eyes dark and troubled.

"We've had our share of disagreements...but you've never taken it out on my desk before."

He saw her chin lower slightly. "I apologize."

Something had indeed changed. His subcommander was no longer in control. And he had to ask.

"What's happening to you?"

As soon as he asked her, it seemed she gave him her answer. Her gaze faltered and her lips trembled. She looked up at him, her eyes swimming in unshed tears, her face deeply unhappy, despondent. He fought the instinct to reach out. If this was a Human woman, he thought, she might be weeping in his arms right now.

Oh T'Pol! What is happening to you?!

He felt a lump form in his throat, but he kept his hands by his side. There had been enough mistakes made already.

As she looked up at him, her eyes searching his face, she seemed to gather herself. After a moment, she lowered her head and breathed hard, as if fighting for control. He held his breath, giving her time, some much-needed silence, and unerring support.

When she spoke, her voice was raw with emotion. "It's been a difficult few days. I haven't had the time to meditate."

Understandable. And yes, it could explain how things had been progressing with her. Meditation was a necessity to Vulcans—he knew that. Like food and water were to Humans. But he still felt something gnawing at him. Something that didn't quite add up.

"Maybe you should find the time," he said.

Her voice was still low and she was not looking at him. "I didn't mean what I said."

"I'm glad to hear it." He knew there was nothing else he could say. Things were at such a heightened state between them, between him and his fate...that there wasn't much else he could demand from either of them—his ship or T'pol—that they were not giving him already, and willingly. He had to be happy with crumbs right now.

I don't want you to die!

Yes, he would be happy with crumbs.

He thought he heard her say something. When she stayed silent, he took in a deep breath.

"I'll be leading the boarding party. There's no margin for error."

He looked at her steadily. She seemed skittish, her eyes avoiding his. Her neck looked as if it would not support her head for much longer.

He made a decision. And reached out and took her by her shoulders.

She felt so fragile. All skin and bones, like a china doll. He felt as if he could snap her in two if he was not careful.

As she looked up at his touch, he was reminded of the time they were on the Seleya. She'd been trying to run away from him then. Was this look the same as that one?

Maybe.

Then, as now, he had held her by the shoulders and given her a little mental shake. And maybe a little Human buttress. A little tough love, as Trip called it. Yes, he had given her that. Just as she had given him the same throughout the last three years, during his darkest, most weakened hours.

Her shoulders felt tiny and fragile in his hands. But he knew the strength within their confines. She was the strongest person he knew. And he knew that she would triumph over this.

She was still looking at him, something vital coming alive in her dark, green depths. He thought she looked exhausted. And he knew that, somehow, by holding her this way, he provided her strength and support. And over the years, it had become a kind of physical code between them.

And he knew he had her full attention.

"If we don't do this right, people are going to die. I need you on the bridge."

"Understood."

He let go. And straightened up.

Yes, together, they could...they would...do it.


End file.
